


pave me the way to you

by lq_traintracks (lumosed_quill)



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Established Relationship, F/F, Masturbation, Romance, Sexual Fantasy, Vibrators
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-24
Updated: 2015-11-24
Packaged: 2018-05-03 05:04:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,146
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5277731
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lumosed_quill/pseuds/lq_traintracks
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hermione's away on business, but she leaves Pansy a gift.</p>
            </blockquote>





	pave me the way to you

**Author's Note:**

> Written for November's Daily Deviant!
> 
> Title taken from k.d. lang's song, "Save Me".

Pansy shifts beneath the covers, finds the wand under her pillow, and casts a Lumos on her bedside clock. It's almost midnight, but the full, yellow moon glances off the low-level fog, and it's entirely too bright to allow a deep sleep. She throws the sheets off her legs and goes to wrench the heavy drapes closed to block out whatever light she's able. Before she can, an owl flies onto the ledge and knocks with a polite beak.

It's no owl she recognises, but that doesn't stop her pulse from speeding, hopeful that it could be, that it might be…

She opens the window, and when she sees what the bird has clutched in its talons, her breath quavers out of her. 

"Well, look at you," she says to the bird. "Come in then. What have you got?"

But she's smiling, because the red rose with its soft, closed petals and crisp little leaves is rather obvious. Pansy takes it carefully, meaning to avoid the thorns, but then notices that they've been spelled smooth. She finds herself smiling at the stem before turning the bud to her nose and closing her eyes.

"Treats are on the kitchen counter. Help yourself," she says, and the owl hoots, springs from the sill, and soars down her hall.

Pansy shivers, closing the window and then the curtains tight. She pads back to bed on chilled feet, stuffing them back under the covers and settling the blankets at her hips. She unties the parchment that's attached to the flower, but instead of casting a cold, bluish spell to see, she leans over and lights the candle at her bedside and reads by its warm, wavering light, her heart skipping beats with every word, her hands shaking the parchment:

_I'm missing you, Pans. I'm writing this in the morning, and it will take three owls to get to you. It'll be night for us both once it does._

_Please… will you use it? Use it and think of us and know I'll be home soon._

_I can't wait to be home._

The words are so few and yet she's already wet. The idea that her lover has reached through time, that her words have flown miles and miles to find Pansy unable to rest, unable to get warm…

_Will you use it?_

Pansy's breath goes short as she reaches over and opens her bedside table drawer. She withdraws the box and opens it. She removes the gift her lover left before her trip.

"'Will I use it?' Pfff!" Pansy snorts to herself as she lies back, shoves down her pyjama trousers and knickers, and yanks up her t-shirt. She laughs at the utilitarian frankness with which she's undressing. There are no eyes for which to strip slowly, to roll a bare shoulder, to tease with the ever lowering of her panties from her bum. No, Pansy is ready in two seconds flat. And she knows Granger would love that, too.

_Use it._

"God…" 

Pansy picks it up and parts her thighs just a little, listening to the wet kiss of her cunt. 

" _Enervate_ ," she whispers, and the thing comes to life in her hand. She jolts pleasurably, even before she lowers the sleek round head to her inner thigh.

It vibrates against her tender muscles, and Pansy turns her head on her pillow. Even before she rolls the vibrator into her folds, Pansy picks up the rose. She touches first one nipple and then the other with its petals.

She arches into the touch. Hermione's fingertips, the flick of her thumb, her open hot mouth…

Pansy groans and slides the vibrator between her legs. She runs it up and down, until she's meeting it with rolling hips, taut stomach.

" _Fortis_ ," she sighs and then gasps as it jumps, the vibrations stronger, harder, and faster. She runs it over her clit, circles, finds the spot just beneath and moans, twisting in the sheets.

Her apologies to the rose, Pansy tosses it aside, no longer enough, and fingers her own tits, plucking and pulling as her legs open further, pressed by the insistence of invisible hands.

Hermione's sweet, quick fingers between her thighs, dirty words whispered into her neck.

Pansy writhes and rides the vibrations, remembering the curve of Hermione's breasts, heavy in her hands, the nipples wet from Pansy sucking them, how weak Pansy is for anything Hermione wants.

No. _Granger._

Tonight, Granger.

"Fuck me," Pansy whispers to the ceiling, her body in constant, fluid motion. 

_I know how you like it._

If she concentrates, it's almost a whisper in her ear, Hermione's distinct brand of pride in her own knowledge about Pansy's tastes, tempered by the utter generosity, the purity of her soul. Pansy doesn't want her pure at the moment.

She rolls onto her stomach and comes up on her knees, her face in the fluffy cream of Hermione's pillow now. The scent of her: old books, the bite of cinnamon. Pansy spreads her legs.

"Do it, Granger. Use me."

Pansy doesn't wait for the image to coalesce. She wants no image. She wants to live inside the moment of her lover entering her unseen. She rubs the vibrator fast over her clit and open cunt. She pulls on her tit until it's red and sore. She arches her back until she aches and her thighs scream. Until she's shaking and exposed, and moving to phantom rhythms her body has memorised in the dark, and all she can hear is Granger's breath exalting her name as they both quake and come, and Pansy's voice goes hoarse into the foggy night, calling for her.

Whimpering, she collapses. With a gasp of discomfort, she withdraws the vibrator from her slick sex, caresses once more her damp thighs, and then whispers the spell to silence it.

She flops bonelessly to her back, her bobbed hair sticking sweaty to her face. She longs for Hermione to be here to sift it back behind her ear, to smile at her like she's perfect.

Pansy shivers and draws the blankets beneath her chin. Her pyjama bottoms are somewhere irretrievable at the foot of the bed. Her knickers are twisted around one calf. Pansy summons the meager energy to pull her t-shirt down to cover her breasts once more.

Her fingers whisper against parchment, and she pulls the note up to read it once more, smiling at Hermione's writing in her stupor. She wets dry lips and turns it over.

_p.s. I do so love you._

Pansy reads those words over and over. She studies the loops her lover's quill has made. Then she sighs and lays the parchment on Hermione's side, perched atop her pillow. She rolls over, blows out the candle, and snuggles down into the soft bedding – conjuring the warm, loving circle of arms to hold her – and falls deeply into sleep.


End file.
